


The End of the Beginning Affair

by Esgalnen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Courage, F/M, Injury Recovery, Long-Term Relationship(s), Major Character Injury, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esgalnen/pseuds/Esgalnen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is badly injured in a THRUSH setup and when Napoleon takes him to the hospital he meets a very unusual woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Beginning Affair

**The End of the Beginning Affair**

 

It had all seemed so simple.  Just stop a couple of Thrushies, take them back to headquarters and then stop off for a bite to eat.  However, it hadn’t quite panned out like that…..

     First the couple of Thrushies had turned out to be ten, then as Napoleon had managed to subdue two of them one had risen from behind the car and fired, straight at Illya.  Napoleon watched, transfixed as Illya stood almost motionless for a couple of seconds before he crumpled silently onto the sidewalk. 

     “Illya!” Napoleon had yelled, he’d shot the man who had downed Illya and after making sure that the man he’d handcuffed was still out for the count, sprinted across to his partner and knelt beside his still body.  Blood was already pumping from half a dozen wounds, Napoleon pressed his fingers against his friend’s neck willing there to be a pulse. For one heartstopping moment he couldn’t feel anything and then he felt a weak throb beneath his fingertips.  Scooping his partner up in a fireman’s lift he quickly opened his communicator, relayed the message that the THRUSH operatives were ready to be picked up and stated that he was bringing Illya straight through to medical.

     Two hours later Napoleon was sitting on one of the hard chairs staring bleakly into nothing.  Illya was still in surgery but Napoleon was blaming himself.  _You should have checked that intelligence!_ The voice whispered in his mind, _If Illya dies – no! Illya can’t die!_ His shirt still caked in his friend’s blood, he sat in the deserted corridor, waiting.

     Eventually a man dressed in the green scrubs of operating room personnel entered the corridor and strode up to Napoleon, “Mr Solo?” he asked looking down at the disheveled man.

     “Yes?” Napoleon looked up and seeing the surgeon was immediately on his feet, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

     The surgeon held up a placatory hand, “Settle down Mr Solo.  Mr Kuryakin’s come out of surgery, he’s stable.”

     “May I see him?” Napoleon cringed at the pleading note in his voice.

     “It’s highly unusual-” the surgeon began, “but as you’re UNCLE I’ll allow it.”

     “Thank you,” Napoleon replied. He followed the surgeon who led him through UNCLE’s medical facility into the ICU suite, a single bed lay against the wall, Illya seemed to be attached to every iv in the place.  Two were attached to each arm and Napoleon could see that there were also another two attached to his legs.

     The nurse who’d escorted him into the room cleared her throat, “I know it looks horrendous Mr Solo, but it’s necessary.”

     Napoleon nodded and then his face bleak gently took his partner’s hand. “I’ll get you a chair,” the nurse said quietly.  She returned said, “Please, Mr Solo, sit down before you fall down.”

     Slowly, his hand still linked with his partner’s, Napoleon Solo sat down.  _Please be all right, Illya. Please._

     He must have fallen asleep, his hand still curled around Illya’s, someone was gently calling his name. He forced open sticky eyelids and saw the white starched uniform, then he lifted his head and saw the same nurse standing next to his chair.

     “Mr Solo?” she queried, “I’ve had some clothes brought from your apartment for you and the other bed made up.  We all of us knew you weren’t going anywhere until Mr Kuryakin regained consciousness.”

     “Thank you,” Napoleon mumbled, as the woman turned to go he asked, “What’s your name, Nurse?”

     “I’m not a nurse,” she turned and smiled at him, “I’m Dr Fine’s Administrative Assistant. Miss Vavasour.”

     “Thank you,” Napoleon responded meeting her hazel eyes, “You seem to know exactly what we want.”

     “Experience.” She replied, “I’ll have one of the nurses bring you a menu.”

     When he was alone, Napoleon stretched in the chair and bent over his partner again, concerned that the anaesthesia had not yet worn off.  He was still holding his partner’s limp hand when another nurse walked into the room.

     She checked his vital signs, hanging up another litre of blood and noting that down.  Then she came around to stand next to Napoleon, “He’s passed into a natural sleep,” she said softly  “You should try to sleep as well.”

     Nodding, Napoleon bent over his friend and squeezed the limp hand, “Illya,” he whispered, “You’re safe. We’re in the UNCLE infirmary, get better soon tovarisch.”

     He stripped to his underclothes and slipping his UNCLE Special beneath the pillow slipped between the clean sheets and gave in to sleep.    

     He woke a few hours later, despite his best attempts, sleep seemed to elude him, he dozed but he didn’t really sleep.  Finally, realising that he probably wouldn’t sleep until Illya awoke, he got up, dressed and sat down again in the chair next to Illya’s bed.

     Illya stirred, Napoleon gently squeezed his partner’s hand, “Illya, Illya you’re safe. You’re in UNCLE Medical. You’re safe.”

     Illya’s hand twitched, “Napoleon?” he queried.

     “Yes, tovarisch,” Napoleon grinned, relief flooding him. “You got yourself shot up again.”

     “Ah,” Illya rasped, “Saving you again I presume?”

     “Probably,” Napoleon agreed, too grateful to see his partner conscious to explain. Illya half smiled and then giving his partner’s hand a final squeeze, drifted into slumber.

     Grateful beyond reason that his partner would live, would make it, Napoleon gently laid Illya’s hand on the bedcovers and slipped out of the room.  He went home, showered, changed and returned to the hospital.

     “He’s still sleeping Mr Solo,” the nurse said gently as she slipped out of Illya’s room.  “Now I suggest you go and get something to eat.”

     Napoleon nodded.  “How’s he doing?”

     “Better than we expected.  We’ll be removing all except one of the ‘drips’ this afternoon.”

     Napoleon nodded and then he smiled, that devil-may-care Napoleon Solo grin that had the ladies melting like butter and sauntered off down the corridor.  When he returned forty minutes later Illya was sitting up in bed, a tray of food in front of him. He smiled at Napoleon and then started eating.

     “I see your appetite has improved,” Napoleon remarked.

     “Napoleon,” Illya turned pleading eyes onto his friend, “Get me out of here.”

     “All right, tovarisch,” Napoleon sighed, “I’ll see what I can do.”

     He’d gone in search of Miss Vavasour, correctly interpreting that if anyone had the clout to release Illya from Medical it would be her.  She eyed him thoughtfully, the hazel eyes clear and unambiguous.  “While I appreciate your concern for your partner, Mr Solo, I cannot in all conscience, release him.”

     “Please,” Napoleon swallowed, “What if I make it worth your while?”

     She looked up at him and for a moment he caught something in her eyes, _Surprise? Panic? No, something else._ Then the shuttered look reappeared and she smiled, “And what could you offer me, Mr Solo?”

     “Dinner, dancing, if you dance of course,” he smiled again, hoping to dazzle her, “A ballet?”

     “Dinner will be suitable recompense Mr Solo,” she replied, then she sighed, “If you can assure me that Mr Kuryakin will rest and recuperate then I’ll release him. Satisfied?”

     Napoleon nodded, _Satisfied_.  She nodded and then busied herself with the paperwork.  “Go and tell him I’ll release him at two. You’d better take him home.”

     The evening was a pleasant surprise, they laughed, talked and she even managed to match his wit.  Finally after Napoleon had persuaded her to have a slice of chocolate gateau, she sat back and smiled at him, “Thank you, Napoleon.  That was a lovely evening.”

     They halted at the entrance to her flat and Elena turned, “Well, goodnight, Napoleon. Thank you again.”

     Napoleon looked slightly nonplussed, it was unusual for a woman to refuse his advances, but he’d felt all evening that Elena was keeping her distance.  “Can I come in for a nightcap,” he said gently.

     “That’s all?” and for the second time he caught something else in her eyes and resisted the impulse to take her in his arms and soothe whatever it was away.

     “That’s all,” he promised.

     As they entered the apartment Elena said, “I’ll just go and put my wrap away.  You can pour us a drink if you’d like.” She pointed to the liquor cabinet and slipped into the bedroom.

     Napoleon opened the cabinet.  There was a dusty bottle of some liquor, he smiled to himself, there was also a bottle of port.  Napoleon lifted it and uncorked it, he began to pour and then watching the liquid pour from the neck of the bottle he could suddenly see the blood pumping from Illya’s wounds, he moaned suddenly, the bottle clenched in his hand, he couldn’t bear it, he’d almost lost him and it was his fault!  He smashed the bottle against the glass and he was pounding the wall in grief and rage.  Then he was slumped on the floor weeping like a man bereft.

     Someone was kneeling beside him and despite his protestations, helping him to his feet, suddenly he was sitting in an easy chair, shaking as if he had a fever the tears still trickling down his face.  Someone was bending over his still bleeding hands, he winced slightly as she pulled a shard of glass from one of them.

     Then he became aware of her voice, soft and gentle, she was saying something but he couldn’t have responded if he’d wanted.

     “I’d prefer to stitch it,” she was saying conversationally, “but I suspect that will cause problems with Medical.”

     Afterwards Napoleon thought he must be suffering from shock because his usually urbane, suave platitudes wouldn’t emerge.  He watched her bandage his hands and then she gave him a handkerchief, “Dry your eyes,” she said gently, “and then bed I think.”  He really only remembered snatches of things for the remainder of the night, her hands deftly removing his clothes although a part of him noticed that she didn’t remove his boxer shorts. Someone’s arms were cradling him, he lifted his head muzzily, “I’m sorry,” he burbled, “I-I can’t stop shivering.”

     “Hush,” she said gently, “It’s the shock.  Let’s get you warm.”

     He felt her rub his back and arms and then she was opening up the front of her pyjama jacket and drawing him close.  Instinctively his hands came up and encircled her torso, he moved to stroke her breasts, but something was wrong.  He shook his head to clear it.

     “Napoleon,” she said softly, her hazel eyes deep and fathomless, “Go to sleep.” 

     Surprising himself he buried his face in her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her and dropped into slumber.  He awoke slowly, he was held in someone’s arms, he sighed, he felt warm, safe and comfortable. 

     Slowly he raised his head and looked up into the familiar face of Elena Vavasour, “Good morning,” she said gently, “Are you feeling better?”

     Suddenly memory returned in a rush.  He closed his eyes, ashamed.  When he opened them again, Elena was still regarding him quietly.  Eventually he found his voice, “I’m sorry.”

     “For what?” she enquired.

     “I was supposed to show you the time of your life,” he replied ruefully, “not fall apart.”

     Elena smiled, “You would not be the person you are if you had not reacted the way you did.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him gently on the lips, “Would you like some breakfast?”

     Napoleon leant forward and kissed her.  Elena almost reeled back in shock, his kiss was firm but gentle, she felt his tongue probe between her lips and despite herself she mewed deep in her throat.

     He was undoing her pyjama top and suddenly Elena felt him move away from her and she knew that he’d seen the great keloid scar where her left breast had been.  She saw his eyes fasten on it and suddenly looked away acutely embarrassed, “I think I ought to get up-” she broke off, unable to continue, _Damnit!_ Her mind screamed, _you were just starting to enjoy it!_

     Napoleon gently stroked the edges of the scar, “What happened?”

     Elena turned to look up into his brown eyes, they were gentle and compassionate, swallowing hard she said, “Cancer, when I was eighteen.  The surgeon had no option.”

     Napoleon lifted his head, “Can you feel my fingers?”

     Elena nodded, aware that her body was beginning to respond to him in ways she’d never even considered.  Somehow sensing this Napoleon smiled and then he said, “You are a beautiful, brave, intelligent woman and I am going to make love to you.”

     Elena stared up at him, half in disbelief then Napoleon dipped his head, and his left thumb gently stroking her right nipple kissed her, he lifted his head again and said, “Are you all right?”

     Elena nodded shakily, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

     “No,” Napoleon said, “you tell me. Are you a virgin?”

     Elena shook her head, “But I haven’t been with a man in four years.”

     “Because of this?” to her shock and surprise he gently kissed the scar, seeing the look of consternation on her face he chuckled softly, “Relax. If I do something you don’t like or I go too fast just tell me. Promise?”

     Elena nodded and then still chuckling softly to himself he bent to seal her lips with his own and felt her body move under him as she responded to his touch.

     Much later when they were spooned up together, Napoleon’s arm encircling her waist Elena sighed softly, “I was going to cook you breakfast.”

     “How about I take you out for breakfast,” Napoleon suggested.

     “I’d like that very much,” Elena replied.

     Twenty minutes later they were sitting in Napoleon’s favourite café.  Elena tucked into her poached eggs on toast while Napoleon poured them both coffee and then settled down to his own breakfast.

     “Elena?” he asked between mouthfuls.

     “Yes, Mr Solo,” Elena replied.

     “Please call me Napoleon,” he admonished.

     “All right, Napoleon,” Elena smiled, “How can I help?”

     “Would you mind if I went to see Illya?”

     “Mr Kuryakin?” Elena shook her head, “Of course not.”

     Napoleon bounded up the stairs and hammered on his friend’s door.  There was no answer and Napoleon keyed in the code.  As he opened the door he saw Illya sprawled in a crumpled heap on the floor.

     For a moment Napoleon froze but Elena was pushing her way past him and kneeling next to Illya’s unconscious body.  “Call Dr. Fine, U.N.C.L.E. Medical,” she ordered looking up at Napoleon.

     Napoleon nodded and picked up the receiver. Meanwhile Elena tore open Illya’s shirt, she sighed as she saw the blood seeping through the dressings.  Checking his pulse she found it fast and erratic, “Tell Jonas to bring blood,” she shouted through to the lounge.

     She heard Napoleon talking and then he emerged, “Dr Fine wants to talk to you himself,” he said.

     Elena nodded, “Napoleon, keep him comfortable.”

    He nodded

She spoke quietly with Dr Fine and then replaced the receiver, when she returned to the bedroom, Napoleon had placed a pillow beneath Illya’s head and covered him.

     “Jonas says he’ll be here immediately,” she said kneeling the other side of Illya, “how’s he doing?”

     “God knows,” Napoleon muttered, then he rubbed a hand across his face and sighed, “Sorry, Elena.  This is my fault again, I knew that he was too sick to leave medical but I couldn’t persuade him to stay.”

     “That’s all right, Napoleon, he’s an irascible man your partner.”  The door chimed and Elena went to open it. 

     Dr Fine and two other medical personnel entered, Dr Fine dropped to his knees and gently pulled the coverlet back. “Damn!” he swore, “Elena, I think I’ll need to get him back to Medical – he’s split his stitches.”

     To Napoleon’s surprise Elena laid her hand on his arm, “No, Jonas, he’ll never forgive you for it.  Treat him here and I promise to sit on him if he attempts to move.”

     Jonas Fine looked at her in disbelief for a couple of minutes and then he shook his head, “You’re inheriting their bad habits,” he said, “but since you ask it for these two then how can I refuse. Very well.  I’ll inject lidocaine into the surrounding tissue while I clean his wound up and restitch it, Napoleon, hold his hand and you Miss Vavasour, you can assist me.”

     Dr Fine was working slowly, removing the stitches from the torn flesh and putting in new ones when a soft moan alerted him.

     “I think he’s coming round,” he said quietly, to Napoleon although in truth he didn’t have to say anything, Napoleon was already leaning over his partner and speaking softly to him. 

     Illya’s eyes opened and he looked around at the people surrounding him dazedly, “Wha-Whuzza-” he managed.

     “Are you back in the land of the living for a little?” Napoleon asked gently, one hand gently stroking the damp hair away from Illya’s forehead.

     Illya nodded, “I tried to get up – side hurt – room started moving-” his voice trailed away as his eyes closed again.  Elena gently laid her fingers against the side of Illya’s neck, “It’s all right, Napoleon, he’s just passed out again.”

     Napoleon nodded, his dark eyes wide and frightened.  Elena eyed him thoughtfully and murmured, “You’re not going to fall apart on me are you?”

     He shook his head, “No. But I am afraid.”

     “Don’t be, Mr Solo,” Dr Fine was standing up, “If the pair of you can keep him quiet for the next week, Mr Kuryakin should recover.”

     “I’ll do that,” Napoleon interjected, “and this time I’ll sit on him if he so much as moves.”

     “Let’s get him back to bed,” Dr Fine smiled, “he’ll be more comfortable there.”

     “I’ll do it,” and without another word Napoleon had scooped his partner into his arms and carried him through to the bedroom. Gently he laid him down on the bed and carefully cut away the blood-soaked t-shirt, “I doubt he has any pyjamas,” he said softly.

     “Actually, I’d rather just leave things as they are,” Dr Fine said quietly, “I want to make sure that he doesn’t start bleeding again.” He smiled as he began packing up his medical bag, “And I suppose that means that I won’t be seeing you for the next few days.” He turned to smile at Elena. 

     “Sir?” she queried.

     “Someone needs to keep Mr Kuryakin quiet. I’m also assuming that neither of you want this made public to the rest of UNCLE, therefore, Miss Vavasour I’m detailing you to look after him.”

     “How will you square it with Mr Waverley?” Elena asked, worry creasing her perfect forehead.

     “Don’t worry about that, just watch him,” he gestured to Illya lying on the bed, “I’ll stop by some time tomorrow, check how his stitches are. You,” he ordered gesturing to Napoleon,  “sit on him if he attempts to move.”

     Elena showed him to the door and when she returned, Illya was awake and looking dazedly around, “What happened?” he asked, looking up at Napoleon.

     “We were hoping you’d tell us,” Elena said gently, “do you remember anything?”

     A wry smile curved Illya’s lips, “Napoleon brought me home, I slept for a bit. When I woke up it was dark, decided that I’d get up for something to eat and then I wake up and find you guys here.”

     Elena smiled, “Are you hungry?”

     Napoleon chuckled, “He’s always hungry.”

     “I’d better go shopping,” Elena said as she picked up her handbag, “Anything you want?” she inquired lazily.

     “I’ll drive you,” Napoleon said quickly, he glared at Illya, “Don’t move a muscle,” he ordered.

     When they returned, Elena slipped into the kitchen and came out five minutes later with two cups of coffee, a glass of water and two white pills.  Illya regarded the pills with suspicion, “What are those?”

     “Antibiotic,” Elena replied, “Dr Fine left them for you and I’ll sit on your chest, hold your nose and force feed them to you if you don’t take them.”

     Grudgingly Illya held his hand out for the tablets and Elena handed them over, “See that he takes them,” she ordered Napoleon. “I’m going to carry on making lunch.”

     She returned almost twenty minutes later with two bowls of steaming liquid on a tray, she set it on the end of the bed and turned as Napoleon said, “Where are you going?”

     “I’m going to eat my lunch in the kitchen,” she replied, “Let you gentlemen talk.”

     “No,” Napoleon replied, “come and sit here.” He stood up and gestured to the chair, “Come and eat with us.”

     Reluctantly Elena walked towards the chair Napoleon had vacated and sat down.  Napoleon smiled, “I’ll go and get the last bowl.”

     He returned a couple of minutes later carrying what would have been Elena’s lunch and a spoon.  Sitting down on the end of the bed he dipped his spoon into the soup and lifted it to his mouth.  Elena eyed him thoughtfully and then bent to her own lunch.

     Fifteen minutes later she gathered up the bowls and spoons and smiled, “Satiated, gentlemen?”

     Both agents looked up at her and nodded, “That was wonderful, Elena,” Napoleon replied, “you should open a restaurant.”

     “That only serves chicken soup? I don’t think so, Mr Solo.” She laughed and then seeing how Illya’s eyes were starting to droop said softly, “I think we ought to let Mr Kuryakin sleep.”

     “Do you mind if I stay with him for a bit?” Napoleon asked.

     “Course not, Mr Solo,” Elena smiled and then swept out of the room.

     “She’s nice,” Illya whispered softly.

     “Yes,” Napoleon replied, his eyes fastened on the door. He smiled and turned to his friend, taking his hand, “Go to sleep, tovarisch. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

     Elena washed up and when she returned twenty minutes later it was to find both men fast asleep, Napoleon holding Illya’s hand. Quietly she closed the door.

 

Napoleon woke slowly. _How long had he been asleep? Must have been hours_. He looked across at the bed and saw that Illya was curled up on his side and he was still holding his hand, he gently laid it on the bed and rubbing his hand across his face he walked through to the lounge.  Elena was sitting at Illya’s desk a pair of glasses on her nose, writing.  She looked up and a smile curved the soft lips, “Well good afternoon, Mr Solo. I was wondering when you were going to wake up. How’s Mr Kuryakin?”

     “Still asleep,” Napoleon said, “What time is it?”

     “Half past two,” she replied, “would you like a cup of coffee?”

     He nodded sitting down on Illya’s hard couch and she disappeared into the kitchen returning five minutes later with two steaming cups of coffee, a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. “I forgot to ask how you liked it,” she explained.

     Napoleon helped himself to milk and sugar and watched only mildly amused as she poured milk into her coffee cup. “What have you been doing?” he came to stand behind her and gasped in wonderment as he saw the calligraphy.

     “When do you do this?” he asked.

     “I do this in the evenings. This is for a friend.”

     Napoleon reached to touch the parchment but her hand on his arm stopped him, “The ink’s still wet,” she said softly.

     He stood reading the title, “Papyrus Anana – Behold it is written in this roll, read ye who shall find in the days unborn if your gods have given you the skill. Read O Children of the future and learn the secrets of the past- ” he stopped but his eyes continued to scan the calligraphy.

     “Lord,” he murmured, “this is beautiful-”

     To his surprise Elena blushed, finally she managed to stutter, “Thank you, Mr Solo.”

     “Napoleon please,” he insisted. “I think that we have been intimate enough for you to use my first name.”

     Elena laughed, “Very well, Napoleon it is.  But you will still be Mr Solo in the office.”

     “As you will be Miss Vavasour,” he responded. Then his face became serious, “Listen, chances are that I could be sent out on assignment while Illya’s recuperating.  Can you handle him on your own?”

     “I think so,” Elena responded, “besides which he’s not going to be strong enough to wrestle me to the ground for at least 3 days.”

     “I admire your sense of humour,” he remarked. “But he can be a trifle difficult.”

     “Yes, I know.” Elena smiled, “He’s called the Ice Prince around the office.”

     Napoleon nodded thoughtfully, “Are you going to stay here tonight?”

     “Not if you are,” Elena responded, “I’m going to go home and take a shower and come back in the morning.  Besides which I need to do some shopping as Mr Kuryakin’s cupboard is bare and I only bought enough for lunch.”

     Napoleon nodded and then suddenly bent forward and kissed her, “How can I ever thank you?” he murmured.

     “Chocolates will do nicely,” Elena laughed and then she’d slipped out of the room and left him alone.  Napoleon returned to the desk and gazed at the calligraphy.  The setting sun made the colours glow on the parchment.  The ink was dry so he gently lifted it and carried it through to the bedroom.  Illya was just stirring.

     Napoleon sat down next to the bed and said gently, “Did you sleep well, tovarisch?”

     Illya nodded, “Where’s my little nursemaid?”

     “She’s gone home.  You’re stuck with me tonight.”

     “Hmmph,” was Illya’s response. Then he brightened up, “Any chance of a take-out?”

     “If you’re looking for something hot and spicy, I’m warning you, it’ll probably melt your stitches.”

     “I’ll risk it,” Illya grumbled, “besides which I’ll probably be on bread and milk for the next week.”

     “I don’t think she’ll be that bad,” Napoleon replied still reading the manuscript, “she doesn’t strike me as that type of female.”

     Illya smiled, “No, she doesn’t. But I’d still like something hot and spicy.”

     Eventually they compromised and Illya settled for Chinese, both men tucked into their food and when it was finished Illya lay back against the pillows.

     “Stuffed?” Napoleon asked

     “Stuffed.” Illya responded, he looked across at Napoleon, “You?”

     “Pretty much,” Napoleon replied, he regarded his friend thoughtfully, “How are you feeling?”

     “Sore.” Illya replied, he glanced up at Napoleon, “You look better.” He remarked thoughtfully, “You looked grey in medical.”

     “Worried about you.” Napoleon responded, trying to make light of the sheer terror that had engulfed him. Illya caught his eye and said quietly, “It wasn’t your fault you know.”

     “I know.” Napoleon replied.  He sighed and said, “If you can bear it, I’ll sleep next to you tonight.  That couch of yours is too hard.”

     Illya eyed his partner thoughtfully, “As long as you promise not to twitch,” he replied.

     “I’ll do my best.” Napoleon responded, a wry grin curling his lips, and when Elena entered Illya’s flat the following morning it was to see both men curled up next to each other fast asleep.  She watched them for a few moments a small smile curling her lips, they both looked so peaceful and she wished she could leave them like that.

     Sighing softly she cleared her throat and said clearly, “Napoleon. Napoleon it’s time to get up.”

     He stirred and unwinding himself from Illya’s sleeping form, opened his eyes and looked up at her, “Coffee?” she enquired.

     “Please.” He lay blinking up at the ceiling for a few moments when she’d gone.  He looked across to his partner.  Illya was still asleep and Napoleon found himself staring at his sleeping face.  Finally he shook himself and got to his feet.  Dressing quickly he went into the lounge to see Elena unpacking bags of shopping.  “Shopping already?” he queried.

     “It’s half past ten, Napoleon,” she replied. “And before you ask, you’re not expected at UNCLE Headquarters until this afternoon.  Three o’clock to be precise.”

     Napoleon looked startled, “How do you know?”

     “Because I’ve got to come with you.” Elena scowled, “let me do us some breakfast and I’ll tell you about it.  I do not appreciate being grilled by Mr Waverley.”

     When she’d served breakfast she sat down opposite Napoleon and poured them both a cup of coffee.  Napoleon picked up his cup and then said, “So, what happened last night?”

     “Dr Fine called me into the office last night. I assumed that he wanted a bit of extra work doing.  Sometimes he does that – there’s something that he’s forgotten and it needs transcribing immediately.  I walked into my office and Jonas called me into his office.  I walked in and came face to face with Mr Waverley.” She took a sip of her coffee.  “I was asked what my involvement was with you and more specifically with Mr Kuryakin.  I was told – no – warned not to become emotionally attached and then told that I would be allowed to care for Mr Kuryakin until he was fit and then I would be expected to return to work and did I understand.”

     “What happened?” Napoleon asked gently.

     “I told Mr Waverley that I had promised that I would look after Mr Kuryakin, that my personal life was none of his business and that I did not appreciate being treated like a felon.  Then I walked out – I may not have a job to go back to.”

     “You could always marry me,” Napoleon replied and then he stopped, a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth.

     “That’s a sweet offer Napoleon but I wouldn’t want you to marry me from pity.”

     Napoleon laughed, “I wouldn’t offer from pity.  I told you, you are bright, brave and beautiful and I would be proud to have you as my wife.”

     “Flattery will get you everywhere,” Elena laughed and then her expression became solemn, “Seriously though, Napoleon, this could pose a problem for both you and Illya.”

     “We’ll see.” Napoleon responded, “it may be that Waverley was testing you.”

     “Funny way to test someone.”

     “Not really.” Napoleon poured himself another cup of coffee, “He wants to know how strong you are, how much inner strength you have and awful as it sounds he needs to know that if anything should happen to me, you could cope.”

     “This may not be serious,” Elena replied doubtfully.

     Napoleon eyed her thoughtfully and then said, “I do not believe that and neither do you.  For the first time in my life this is very serious.”

     Elena looked up and him and their eyes met, she swallowed hard her mouth suddenly dry, and decided to take a chance, “Yes, Napoleon, this is serious.  For me at any rate.”

     “Yes.” Napoleon replied, “and now we have to decide what to do about it.”

     “Well you could always run off and join the foreign legion,” Elena teased, and then she smiled, “Can we take one day at a time?”

     “That I think I can do,” Napoleon replied, “but I meant what I said. You could marry me.”

     Elena regarded him quietly and then said, “Yes, I could.  But you know the rules – married agents do not work in the field. What about Mr Kuryakin?”

     “I think he would be quite happy to return to the lab,” Napoleon replied.

     Elena laid a hand on his arm, “Before you rush into anything, Napoleon, think very carefully.”

     Napoleon nodded, downing another cup of coffee he said, “I’ll go and see if Illya’s awake.”

     “Ask him what he’d like for breakfast,” Elena called after him.  She began clearing the table and was just gathering the knives and forks together when Napoleon emerged from the bedroom.  Elena looked up, “Everything all right?”

     “He says he could eat a horse,” Napoleon grinned wryly.  “But as you probably aren’t cooking horse he wonders if you could do poached eggs on toast.”

     “I think so,” Elena replied, “Tea, coffee or Russian tea?”

     “Russian tea?” Napoleon’s forehead creased in a frown.

     “Tea in a glass with lemon and honey,” she clarified, “or jam if he would prefer.”

     “Russian tea,” Napoleon replied slowly, “with jam.”  He sat down at the kitchen table and then said, “How did you know?”

     Elena turned and Napoleon saw that she’d gone white, quickly he helped her to a chair and sat her down.  Sitting opposite her he took her hand feeling her tremble.  “What on earth’s the matter?” he said, a touch of asperity in his voice, “Are you going to tell me you’re a communist agent or something?”

     Elena looked up and he caught the ghost of a smile on her lips, “No, I’m the something.  I’m not a communist,” she sighed, “Remember I told you I wasn’t a virgin?” He nodded and she continued, “Well the man I was in love with – or  thought I was in love with was called Alexei Serov.  He was a refugee from one of the Siberian Gulags. He taught me about Russia and I have my smattering of the language from him.”

     “How did you meet him?”

     “I worked in an American Refugee camp on the West Side of the Berlin Wall.  My father was one of the officers in charge of the refugee camp and I worked for him on an ad hoc basis from the age of fourteen until I was eighteen, and that’s when my life fell apart.”

     “The cancer?”

     “It started with me feeling dog tired all the time, even my father said that I looked ill because I was so pale.  But it was Alexei that found the lump.”

     “When you were in bed together?” Napoleon asked.

     Elena nodded, “He persuaded me to go and visit a doctor and the doctor diagnosed cancer.  My father found me the best cancer specialist in the United States and sent me here on the first flight out of Berlin.  I never returned to Germany.  When I was in hospital Mr Waverley came to see me – he and my father had served together during the war and he was prepared to offer me a job in a new organisation.  My father had written to me to tell me that he felt it would be better if I stayed in the United States and settled down as Berlin was no place for a young woman.” She smiled ruefully and looked up at Napoleon, “So I knuckled down and went to work.”

     “What happened to your father?” Napoleon asked quietly.

     “He was killed four years ago,” she replied in a small voice, “Sometimes I think that if I’d gone back he wouldn’t have got killed.”

     He moved so that he was sitting next to her and holding her hands with his own he put his other arm around her shoulders, gently drawing her close so that her head was leaning against his chest, “You couldn’t have done anything you know,” he said softly, into the top of her head, when she lifted it to protest he said firmly, “I know you think you could but Berlin was a damned dangerous place, even after the war.  You couldn’t have done anything.”

     She didn’t respond and releasing her hands he dug in his pocket and brought out a handkerchief, “Here,” he said kindly.

     For a few moments they sat together with his arm around her shoulders and then her head shot up nearly breaking his nose, “Hell!  Mr Kuryakin’s breakfast!”

     Laughing he released her, “You’d better get it for him then.” She stood up but he took her hand as she did so, “Listen Elena, I know you feel guilty about your Dad but you need to let it go.  It’s just the way things are.”

     “I can’t say I like it,” she muttered.

     “No.  Nor do I.” Napoleon replied, “Which is why I’m a part of UNCLE so that we can stop most of it before it happens.”

     “Even if you were to die?”

     “If it saved billions of lives it would be a small price to pay.” Napoleon replied, “It’s the price we pay – it’s the price UNCLE’s willing to pay.”

     “Yes, I know.” Elena sighed, “now all I have to do is apologise to Mr Waverley.”

     “Ah well,” Napoleon shrugged, “these things happen. He’ll probably tell you not to be so touchy.”

     She finished serving the eggs and added the tea with a spoonful of raspberry jam. Then she handed it to Napoleon, “Go take breakfast to your partner while I wash up.”

     When he returned she was standing at the sink, up to her elbows in suds. “Can I dry?” he asked.

     “If you like,” she replied, “could you stand this Napoleon?”

     “I think,” Napoleon said slowly, “That with you I could stand this.”

     She turned and stared at him, then she gently leant towards him and kissed his lips, “Oh, Napoleon.”

    

When the washing up was finished, Elena handed Napoleon a glass of water and another two tablets, “Get him to take these,” she said quietly.

     “Antibiotic?” Napoleon queried.

     “Antibiotic,” she confirmed, “tell him if he’s good then I’ll treat him to proper Russian borscht Saturday night.”

     Chuckling, Napoleon took the pills and the glass of water and slipped through to the bedroom.  When he came back he said softly, “Illya wants to see you, alone.”

     “Is he going to ask what my intentions are?” Elena replied.

     “I don’t know,”

Undoing her apron she smoothed her skirt and walked through to the bedroom, Illya was sitting up, and she noticed that his colour had improved.

     “How are you feeling?” she inquired.

     “Much more human,” he smiled and Elena was shocked to see how much it changed his face, “I owe you my life.”

     “Napoleon would have known what to do,” Elena demurred, “You said that you wanted to see me.”

     “Please, sit,” Illya gestured to the chair next to the bed. When she was comfortable he said, “I want to know what you and Napoleon are planning to do next.”

     “Speak with Mr Waverley first,” Elena replied, “and then see what happens.”

     “Why do you have to speak with Mr Waverley,” Illya looked nonplussed.

     “Because I was summoned into his office last night and he and Dr Fine demanded to know what my intentions were with regard to Agent Solo.” She grinned, “I may no longer have a job with UNCLE.”

     “Somehow I doubt that,” Illya responded thoughtfully, “But I do think they may wish to know what you both want to do.  I know my partner very well, Miss Vavasour, I want to ask you a serious question.”  He paused and then he said, “Do you love my partner, Elena?  Are you willing to make a life commitment to him because if he marries you then he must step down as an UNCLE operative.”

     “Yes, Mr Kuryakin, I know.” Elena sighed, “are you asking me if _I_ am willing to marry him?”

     Illya nodded, “I am.  I suppose I’m gauging your intentions.”

     “Then the answer is ‘Yes’,” Elena responded.

     Illya regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments, “Then I wish you joy, whatever you decide to do.”

     “What about you?” Elena suddenly asked.

     “I’ll go back to my lab,” Illya replied, “It will not be such a wrench for me.”

     “Should I find another job,” Elena said suddenly, her face serious, “As you said, you can return to your laboratory – can Mr Solo retire?  If you think it would be better for him if I was to disappear, I’ll gladly take your advice.”

     Illya shook his head, “He would search for you.  He would threaten everyone in UNCLE until he discovered your whereabouts and then he would resign.  No, Elena, I think that would be foolish.  You have to face this together and decide what to do together.  Of that I am certain.”

     “All right,”             Elena nodded, “I’ll play it your way for now.”  She was about to stand up and then a thought occurred to her, “What if Mr Waverley suggests it?”

     “Stand your ground,” Illya said, his blue eyes going hard, “and tell them what I told you – make it your idea – that at least will show that you have thought about it.”

     Elena nodded, “Thank you, Il-” she began but suddenly he’d pulled her into a fierce embrace, “Look after him, Elena.”

     “I will, Illya, I will,” she whispered back, the tears suddenly filling her eyes.

     Napoleon was waiting for her when she emerged, he took one look at her face and then took her hand, “Was he that hard on you?” he queried sympathetically.

     Elena sat down at Illya’s kitchen table and sighed, “I was always told by female relatives never to lay my cards on the table when dealing with men.  However, I would prefer to be truthful and have you do the same.  Mr Kuryakin and I spoke about what you wish to do – I even suggested that I disappear but he vetoed it, said that you would shake the location out of staff at U.N.C.L.E. and then you’d resign.  He said that we have to face this together – and we _have_ to be consistent when dealing with Mr Waverley or he will break us.”

     “Do you think so little of him?” Napoleon queried.

     “No, I don’t.” Elena replied, “I believe he would justify it by telling himself that it was for our good.  He thinks of you as a son and he would think that he was helping you.”

     “How could this be helping me?” Napoleon stared at her.

     “You have a reputation, Napoleon,” Elena replied softly, “your attraction to the ladies is well-known, Mr Waverley would simply see this as another of those occasions, not as something serious.  Therefore he would surmise that since this is another of those times, his best solution is remove me from the scene.”

     “Bastard!” Napoleon grated.

     “Would you both come in here,” Illya’s voice floated from the bedroom.

     Napoleon raised an eyebrow at her and then taking her hand led her through.  He gestured for Elena to sit down on the chair and then sat down on the end of the bed, “What’s your plan?”

     “Not a plan as such,” Illya’s blue eyes glittered, “more a suggestion.  Don’t let yourselves be separated.  You must face Mr Waverley together and continue to do so.”

     Elena looked across at Napoleon, his eyes were dark and sardonic, “And what do we say?”

     “I think you know.” Illya replied, “but it is likely that Alexander Waverley will have a file on you, Elena, is there anything, anything at all that he could use to suggest that you are behaving in an underhand fashion.”

     “Not that I can think of,” Elena frowned, “I suppose he could bring up the fact that my father was employed by the Russians before he worked for the Americans and that because I was working for him I was also working for them.  Gave me my working knowledge of Russian,” she smiled sheepishly at Illya.

     “He may mention your cancer,” Napoleon said suddenly, “and ask me if I know the circumstances.”

     “And if I hadn’t told you?” Elena replied.

     “He could suggest that you had led me on, and that you intended to marry me because of your condition.”

     “But I didn’t-” Elena began and then she flushed.

     “No, I know,” Napoleon replied, “but others might not see it that way.”

     “And your reputation as a ladies man could be used against you,” Illya looked at his friend, “it could be suggested that this is just a passing fancy.  You may have to submit to some rather pointed comments from the other girls in the secretarial pool.”

     “Then we stand together,” Napoleon said firmly.

     Elena smiled at him, “I guess we’d better get going.”

     “See you later,” Illya said quietly.

     “Count on it.” Elena replied.

    

Despite her assurances to Illya, Elena was nervous as they walked along U.N.C.L.E.’s corridors, hand in hand.  People watched from the side offices and nudged one another as they passed.

     “Guess we’re causing a bit of a stir,” Elena murmured, her hand warm in Napoleon’s.

     “Indupitably,” he responded, his eyes flicking from one side of the corridor to the other.

     “If we have witnesses then it can’t be all bad.” Elena remarked.

     Napoleon laughed harshly, “My naïve little Elena.  If Waverley wanted to get rid of us he would do so.  Do you think that any of these watching us would speak up for us – or even acknowledge that we existed.” He squeezed her hand, “We’re here.  Remember what Illya said-”

     “Don’t let them separate us,” Elena replied.

     Waverley was sitting behind his desk and standing next to him was Dr. Fine.

     “Miss Vavasour, if you’ll go with Dr Fine-” Waverley began but to her joy, Napoleon shook his head, “You must think that I’m foolish, sir.  We stay together.”

     Waverley shook his head, “All right, Mr Solo, level with me.  What’s going on?”

     “I want to marry her sir,” Napoleon responded, “and honestly, sir, I don’t trust you.”

     To his surprise Waverley chuckled, “Well you know how I feel about you, Mr Solo.  You do realise the ramifications?”

     “I will no longer be able to work in the field,” he responded.

     “No.” Waverley replied, “And Mr Kuryakin?”

     “Will gladly return to the lab,” Elena smiled, “We talked about this a couple of nights ago.”

     Dr Fine regarded them quietly, “You’ve both thought this through then?”

     Napoleon and Elena looked at one another and then back at the two men, “We have.” They spoke together.

     Waverley surveyed them quietly and then he stood up, “Then may I offer my congratulations.” He shook hands with both of them and said, “Will you please go with Dr Fine for your blood tests.”

     “Together?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

     “Yes, together, Mr Solo,” Waverley champed the end of his pipe, “Since neither of you have any faith in me.”

     Elena eyed him thoughtfully and then decided to be blunt, “You’re quite right, sir.  We thought that your first response would have been to remove me and convince Mr Solo that I was merely a flash in the pan.”

     To her surprise and secret delight Waverley flung his head back and roared with laughter.  When he’d recovered he regarded them both thoughtfully, “Well, Mr Solo, I can honestly say that I am impressed.  I think you have most definitely chosen the right woman.  Miss Vavasour, I trust that you know what you’re getting into.  I give you my blessing and look after one another.”

     “I was hoping you’d give me away, Sir.” Elena replied artfully.

     “Be delighted,” he responded and then he held his hand out,  “Your gun and badge please, Mr Solo. As from now you are stood down. Do you understand?”

     Napoleon nodded and Elena felt him squeeze her hand, “Yes, sir.  I was expecting this and you’re quite right.”

     Waverley smiled, and then looked hard at Elena, “Yes, I think you have made the right choice and if you can face even this with equanimity then there’s hope for you.”

     Napoleon leant against the door jamb as Dr Fine took Elena’s blood, “I take it you don’t like being poked and prodded.”

     “Had enough of it after-” she stopped, unwilling to continue.

     “The cancer,” Dr Fine caught her eye and Elena blushed, he smiled, “I did read your file, Miss Vavasour.  How are you feeling in yourself?”

     “All right,” Elena replied, “A bit stunned if you want my honest opinion.”

     “About what?” Jonas inquired.

     “Mr Waverley’s acquiescence,” she replied, “I expected more of a fight.”

     “You underestimate him,” Dr Fine replied, “Once he knew Mr Solo’s mind and knew that you were united, he understood.”

     Napoleon looked up, “So, our battles are over?”

     “With Mr Waverley, yes,” A smile curved the strong mouth, “your other battles – as you so eloquently put it – have yet to be fought.”

     They both looked at one another as Dr Fine put a plaster on Elena’s arm, “I offer an opinion to you both.  Get married soon.  I know that you would probably like a huge wedding and lots of bridesmaids, but the sooner you do this, the sooner the rumours will stop.”

     “Rumours?” Elena looked up at him.

     “Come, Miss Vavasour, you must be aware of Mr Solo’s character - I am sorry, Mr Solo-” he said looking at the agent, “But your reputation precedes you.”

     “They have a Saturday night pool on me, you know,” he said as Jonas rolled up his sleeve, “They all put in a dollar and whoever is drawn gets a new dress and a makeover and I get to take her out.”

     To his surprise Elena laughed, “I know, Mr Solo, I even entered twice, but my name was never drawn.  I’ve never been lucky in that respect.”

     “It is possible that you’ll be the target of some jealous gossip,” Napoleon looked thoughtful.

     “I know, you’re quite the catch.” Elena replied somewhat tartly, “but I don’t think of you like that, Napoleon.”

     “There, you’re done.” Dr Fine said, rolling Napoleon’s sleeve down.  Solo rose to his feet and put his arms around Elena.

     “I don’t want you to put me on a pedestal,” he said softly, his eyes holding hers, “You’d never be able to reach me.”

     “I’d learn how to fly,” Elena replied, her hazel eyes sparkling.

     He chuckled and then bent to gently kiss her on the lips.  Then he looked up at Dr Fine, “I take it that this meets with Mr Waverley’s approval and that I can leave my fiancée on her own without her disappearing?”

     “Certainly, Mr Solo,” Jonas smiled, “Mr Kuryakin will need some more antibiotics.  Is he taking the ones I prescribed?”

     “Under duress,” Elena responded.

     “That’s the only way he takes them,” Dr Fine grinned, “Come along, Elena.  You’d better go and report to Mr Waverley, Napoleon.  There’ll be many things you must learn.”

     “And I suppose there’s a mountain of work for me to get on with.” Elena rolled her eyes.

     “Not quite yet, Miss Vavasour,” Dr Fine shook his head, “I’m going to give you some more antibiotics and then one of U.N.C.L.E.’s drivers will take you back to Mr Kuryakin’s.”

     “Could he take me to a convenience store first?” Elena asked, “I need to do some shopping, Mr Kuryakin is very poor at keeping a stocked fridge.  Lots of take-out menus but no proper food.”

     “I think that can be arranged,” Dr Fine smiled.

     She was standing in front of her desk clearing some papers when Lisa Rogers walked in, Elena looked up, “Miss Rogers, does Mr Waverley want something?”

     “No, I came to talk to you.  What was Napoleon like when you had dinner with him?”

     “Fine,” Elena lied, “He wined and dined me and I invited him in for a drink and then, well I’m sure you know.”

     “Yes,” Lisa smiled thinly, “I just wanted to make sure.  It’s just the last time his partner was released early from medical he fell apart on the girl who gave him the medical clearance.”

     Elena forced a smile to suddenly stiff lips, “Oh.  Perhaps he didn’t have to worry this time.”

     “Hmm,” Lisa smiled back but Elena noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Are you leaving?”

     “Just came in to pick up some work,” Elena lied, “and to make sure that the confidential papers were under lock and key.  Can I get you anything before I go?”

     “No thanks.  See you tomorrow?”

     “Possibly,” was Elena’s only comment.  She watched while Lisa breezed out of the room and then sank down into the chair, sweat beading her forehead. _There was no way in heaven or hell she was going to enlighten anyone about Napoleon’s breakdown.  Jesus Christ Almighty!_   She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead just as Dr Fine walked in. She managed a wan smile and he was instantly at her side, “Elena! Are you all right?”

     “Yes,” she managed a half-hearted smile, “I was very tempted to tell Lisa about Mr Solo and myself but I decided to keep my own counsel.”

     “Very wise,” Jonas smiled, “the car’s waiting for you.”

     “Jonas,” she murmured, as they walked to the car, “Should I tell the secretarial pool  about our engagement or leave it to Napoleon?”

     “I think that you ought to leave it to Napoleon,” Jonas smiled tightly, “It might be misconstrued coming from you.”

     “Yes,” Elena replied thoughtfully.  She smiled at Dr Fine as he held the door open for her and walked into the bright sunlight. Neither of them saw Lisa Rogers standing in the corridor, watching them.  She waited until the door closed and then she quietly turned and walked down the corridor, not to her own office but towards the basement where the employee records were kept.

     She spent almost an hour searching for Elena’s records and when she found them spent another forty minutes perusing them.  Eventually she found what she was looking for and closing the file sat for almost twenty minutes thinking, her long red fingernails tapping thoughtfully on the buff cover.

     Two days later Elena was back at her desk and parts of UNCLE were slightly confused.  Mr. Solo had resigned from active service and was working with Mr Waverley, a huge bouquet of roses was on Miss Vavasour’s desk, Napoleon had told the girls that the Saturday night lottery was to be discontinued and Mr Kuryakin was well enough to be allowed back to work, on the understanding that he remained in the laboratory and didn’t exert himself.          

The only person who didn’t seem fazed by this was Lisa Rogers.  When she was told about the cancellation of the Saturday night pool she’d merely shrugged her shoulders and muttered something about ‘things being put right soon.’  Her chance came sooner than expected, she called up to Elena’s office and asked if she could come downstairs and pick up some confidential papers.  When Elena arrived Lisa was waiting.  Elena stopped in front of her desk and smiling asked, “I’m here to pick up some confidential papers for Dr Fine?”

     Lisa stood up and walking around her desk grasped Elena’s blouse in her hands and ripped it open, scattering buttons all over the floor.  Elena gasped in shock and stepped back and then she saw the glitter of a scalpel in Lisa’s hand, she watched in fright as the blade slid up beneath her bra, cutting the material.  The bra fell open and Elena watched as her prosthetic breast slid to the floor leaving the great keloid scar exposed.

     She remembered a vague feeling of not being quite there, everything seemed to be fading in and out, for some reason her attention was fixated on the prosthesis wobbling on the floor. 

     She vaguely heard Lisa’s snarl although the words didn’t seem to register, “See!” she was crowing, “He’s only with her because he feels sorry for her! Napoleon’s given up everything and she’s using him!”

     “Miss Rogers!” the voice made everyone turn and jump, Alexander Waverley was standing in the doorway with such a look of cold fury on his face that everyone was rendered speechless.

     “I sincerely doubt that Napoleon would stay with anyone because he pitied them,” Illya said slowly, having entered the room from the opposite end.  He had already removed his jacket and was placing it around Elena’s shoulders, “Cecily, help me get her arms in.” He ordered curtly.  Putting an arm around Elena’s shoulders he said softly, “Come on, Sweetheart, let’s get you out of here.”

     “Miss Rogers!” Waverley barked, “My office – now!” He watched as Lisa scuttled away and then he said, “None of you will ever mention this incident again – do you understand?”

     Without waiting for a response he turned and stalked after Lisa Rogers.  Meanwhile Illya was sitting Elena down on his chair in the office he shared with Napoleon, Cecily looked across at him, “Is she all right?”

     “She will be,” Illya replied, he walked across to his desk and pulled out a bottle of alcohol.

     “Vodka in the office?” Cecily queried.

     “Emergencies,” Illya replied shortly.  He poured half a mug of the clear liquid and then carrying it across to Elena put his arm around her shoulders and held it to her lips.  Automatically she took a mouthful and coughed as the spirit hit the back of her throat.  Some of the colour returned to her face and she automatically put her hands up to hold the mug.

     “Can you go and fetch another blouse,” Illya asked quietly, looking up at Cecily.

     She nodded and slipped from the room.  Gradually, Elena became aware of herself,  Illya kneeling in front of her, his blue eyes concerned, her blouse and bra hanging off her shoulders and the sudden memory of what had happened. 

     “Back with us?” Illya asked quietly.

     Elena nodded, and it was then that she realised she was wearing his jacket “You saw,” she whispered brokenly.

     Illya stood up and laid a hand on her shoulder, “ Yes. No doubt your affianced will be crashing through the door any moment now.”

     “Why’d she do it?” Elena asked, a plaintive note in her voice, “What have I ever done to her?”

     “You took Napoleon away from her that’s what,” Illya remarked shortly.

     The door crashed open and Napoleon marched in.  One look at his stony face and white lips told both of them that he was trying to contain his fury.  Elena watched him quietly and then Illya was gently drawing him away to the opposite side of the office.  Elena sighed and then the door opened again and Cecily slipped in, she was carrying a blouse and bra and in her other hand was something wrapped in a tissue.

     Elena stood up managing to force a smile to numb lips.  Cecily smiled back and then she said, “I went out and bought another bra, is that all right?”  Cecily swallowed, “We’ll go to the ladies and you can change. I also picked up your erm - prosthetic.”

     The corridors were quiet.  Cecily opened the door to the changing room and Elena slipped inside.  When she emerged fifteen minutes later she was almost her old self.  “I’ll take you back to Mr Solo,” Cecily said quietly.  “I should imagine that he’s almost ready to commit murder by now.”

     He managed a smile when she entered the room but Elena could see that he was still angry.  He looked up at Cecily, “My thanks.”

     “That’s all right, Mr Solo,” Cecily replied, she looked at Elena, “See you later?”

     “I should think so,” Elena managed a wry smile.

Napoleon took her in his arms and hugged her as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.  She put her arms around his back and held on.  “I’m sorry.” She murmured brokenly.

      He didn’t respond, merely rocked her gently.  Realising that Illya was watching them she stepped away, “I’m all right, Napoleon. Really I ought to get back to work – I-” She swallowed and realised that the floor seemed to be moving again. She heard Illya curse and then mercifully blackness swallowed her up.

     She regained consciousness slowly.  Where the hell was she?  She appeared to be lying on a bed, she could feel a sheet beneath her.  She opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Dr Fine bending over her.

     “Oh God,” she muttered.

     “No, just me.” He replied, “I’ll go and let your fiancé know that you’re all right.  He’s been pacing the halls like a tiger.”  He smiled. “And perhaps you should tell him.”

     She looked sheepish, “I only found out today.  How did you know?”

     “Perfectly healthy woman collapsing in a heap.” Dr Fine smiled, “and while you were unconscious I took some blood.”

     She sat up gingerly, her head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool.  She was propping herself up when Napoleon burst through the door.  He gathered her up in his arms and kissed her passionately. Finally he allowed her to come up for air and she flopped back against the pillows.

     “Napoleon,” she croaked, trying to find the words.

     He sat on the bed, “I’m so sorry,” he began.

     “For what?” she looked puzzled.

     “For all this,” he gestured to the room, “for everything.”

     Elena stared at him, a puzzled frown on her face, and then realisation dawned. “You’re sorry? Why are you sorry?”

     “I should have realised that the news of our relationship might not fill everyone with joy.”

     But that’s not your fault, Napoleon.” Elena responded.

     Napoleon nodded, although she could still see the anger in his eyes, “I seriously thought I would do Miss Rogers an injury.  Thank God she was in the Old Man’s office otherwise I think I might have committed murder.”

     “The ‘Old Man’ has taken care of it.” A familiar voice interrupted them and Elena had to suppress a smile as Napoleon scowled. “How are you feeling, Miss Vavasour?”

     Elena smiled, “Stupid, Sir.” She replied.

     “There’s no need,” a smile lit the craggy features and Elena found herself smiling back, “Although I would like a word with you alone, if that’s all right Mr Solo?”

     “Sir,” Napoleon replied, slipping off the bed.

     “And I know I have a variety of nicknames within UNCLE’s Headquarters,” he continued, “but I’d rather you didn’t broadcast them, do you understand?”

     “Sir.” Napoleon stood up straighter if that was possible.

     When they were alone, Waverley came across to the bed and sat down in the chair next to her.  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he enquired.

     “Better,” Elena admitted. “As I said, I just feel totally humiliated.”

     “Yes, I can understand that.” Waverley replied, “which is why I have a suggestion.  Marry tonight and go straight on your honeymoon.”

     “How?” Elena squeaked, “I mean, sorry Sir, I could marry like this but every girl likes to feel somewhat special on their Wedding Day.”

     “Now that I can sort out,” he smiled grimly, “I too have friends-”

     “In low places?” she raised an eyebrow.

     He laughed, “No doubt your fiancé is outside, he may as well come in.”

     “Yes, sir.” Napoleon entered so fast she was sure he’d been waiting outside.  Elena took his hand.

     “Go find Mr Kuryakin and come to my office.” Waverley ordered.  Napoleon nodded and planting a quick kiss on Elena’s forehead slipped from the room. 

     “You are going to stay here and I’ll have someone bring you something to eat,” Waverley ordered, “Then you can come down to my office.”

     “Yes, sir.” She said meekly.

     The someone turned out to be Cecily, she also brought Elena’s handbag from her office and  Elena almost cried with relief when she saw her, “What are you doing here?”

     “Illya was staying so I volunteered,” Cecily shrugged, “besides I was feeling guilty.”

     “For what?” Elena frowned.

     “Well, some of us were a bit peeved that Napoleon had called a halt to the Saturday lottery.  But I didn’t know-”

     “Well it’s hardly a conversation opener,” Elena replied, “and it was seven years ago.”

     “He should have told us,” Cecily shook her head.

     “Perhaps he was waiting for the right moment.” Elena smiled, “People do you know, they think that if they wait then suddenly the right moment will appear.  Problem is that there’s no such animal.”  She sighed, “Now I don’t know what we’re doing.”

      She took the tray from Cecily’s hands and lifting the metal lid discovered that underneath it was her favourite dish, “Beef Stroganoff!” she gasped, “I didn’t know that was on the menu today!”

     “It wasn’t,” Cecily smiled, “Mr Waverley had me go over to _Le Jardin de Cygnes_ to fetch it.  There’s strawberries and cream for dessert.”  She smiled again, “I’ll let you eat and be back for you in twenty minutes or so.”

     Elena surprised herself by eating all of the main meal and dessert.  She was just wiping her mouth when the young woman returned, “Ready?  Mr Waverley asked me to come and escort you to his office.”

     Elena followed the young woman down the mainly deserted corridors of UNCLE, “Cecily,” she said quietly, “Would you like to be my bridesmaid?”

     “Are you sure?” the young woman asked.

     “Yes,” Elena nodded, “I think so.”

     As the door opened Elena stared amazed, a young woman stood in the centre of Mr Waverley’s office, wedding dresses were draped over chairs and hanging on a mobile wardrobe.

     “Miss Vavasour?” Elena could only nod dumbly.

     “If you will come with me, we’ll go and try on some gowns.  Is this your bridesmaid?”

     Elena’s mouth opened and she nodded, the woman smiled, “My name’s Meredith, let’s try on some of these dresses.” She held out her hand, “

     Forty minutes later Elena stood in front of  a huge mirror that Meredith had brought from her store.  “What do you think?” Meredith asked.

     Elena turned and Meredith saw the shine of tears in her eyes, “This is glorious, but I can’t – I can’t afford it.”

     Meredith just smiled,  “Don’t worry about that, do you like it?”

     Elena nodded, just as another woman came through the  door, “If you could take the dress off, then we’ll get your makeup done.”

     “Makeup?” Elena squeaked.

 

Meanwhile the store manager with Napoleon Solo was almost tearing his hair out in frustration, “Look, I don’t see the problem,” Napoleon was saying, “Why can’t I get married in my normal suit.  Elena won’t mind.”

     Illya rolled his eyes, “She may not, but  I do.  Just try the damn morning suit on.”

     Reluctantly Napoleon complied and then looked at his friend, “Well?”

     “You look fine, Napoleon,” Illya sighed and then he said, “I’d better get mine on.”

     “This is crazy,” Napoleon said to his retreating back, “What about a priest?  And the ring?”

     “I can arrange both Mr Solo,” Alex Waverley entered the room.  “I’ve got a nervous jeweller sitting outside with a bagful of rings.  Your fiancée is just having her makeup done, once that’s completed I suggest you get together and I’ll send the jeweller in.”

     “I’ll change back into my suit.” Napoleon said, “The priest?”

     “Arranged.” Waverley said and disappeared into the other room.   He was gone for about ten minutes, he returned leading Elena by the arm and was followed by the very nervous jeweller, he was a plump little man with dark brown hair.  Napoleon noticed the sweat beading his forehead as he took the trays of rings out of the case.  “Here, love,” he said gently taking Elena’s hand, “Come and sit down.”

     He pulled another chair across and sat down next to her, “All right?” he asked.

     “Napoleon, what’s our budget?” she asked.

     “I hadn’t thought about it,” he replied truthfully, “But  I can stretch to $1,000.”

     She looked at him quietly, “Are you sure?”

     “Yes, I think so.” He smiled, “I’d prefer not to wear a ring though.”

     “That’s fine,” Elena responded, she swallowed and then looked at him, “Napoleon, once we do this there’s no going back.  Are you absolutely, 100% sure about all this?”

     “Well not all this-” he gestured to the whole wedding paraphernalia scattered around them, “but I am sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

     She smiled, “Oh, Napoleon, I do love you.”

     “Ahem,” the little jeweller coughed, “While I hate to interrupt, I would appreciate it if you could look at these rings.”

     Elena stared at the Wedding Rings laid out in front of her and swallowed, she didn’t know much about rings, but she didn’t want to choose anything that would break their budget. She looked at Napoleon again and wondered if she was doing the right thing and whether she should have run away.  He laid his hand on hers and said softly, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

     She shook her head, “This is very fast and I’m scared.”

     “So am I,” Napoleon replied.  Startled, she looked up at him and saw that although he seemed his usual self, there were lines around his eyes and mouth that only someone with experience would notice.

     She saw the slim gold band and pointed to it, the jeweller nodded and eased it from it’s velvet bed.  Napoleon took it from him and slipped it on her finger, he looked up at Elena and smiled, some of the tension dropping away from his face as he did so, “A perfect fit.”

     She smiled up at him and he gently removed the ring, “How much?” he asked, looking at the jeweller.

     “This one is $545.95,” the jeweller replied.

     Napoleon nodded, “Will a cheque be acceptable?”

     She watched in silence as Napoleon wrote the cheque and the jeweller slipped the ring into a small case.  He smiled at them both, “Thank you, Mr Solo.  May I wish you both joy.”

     “I’d better go and get ready,” Napoleon smiled at her and giving her a cuddle, bent to kiss her forehead and slipped out of the door.   The jeweller began to put the trays of rings back into his bag and smiled at her, “You look a bit stunned,” he said quietly.

     “A bit,” Elena smiled and then she saw the cufflinks, “How much are they?” she asked quietly.

     The jeweller named a price and Elena nodded, reaching down she picked up her handbag from the floor and took out her purse.  Opening it she counted out the notes and he handed the cufflinks to her.

     She smiled, “Thank you.”

     “My pleasure,” a smile touched his lips as he slipped the last of his cases into his bag. 

     The door behind her opened and Mr Waverley appeared, “Are you ready, Miss Vavasour?”

     Elena turned and smiled, “I think so, Sir.  I just need to get into my dress.” She smiled, “And would you pass these onto Mr Solo from me?” She handed him the box containing the cufflinks.

     Waverley opened it, “For your wedding?  I think Mr Solo will like these very much.”

     She nodded, suddenly not trusting herself to speak. The door behind Mr Waverley opened and Cecily came in wearing a long, aquamarine dress, she was carrying two bouquets of flowers. “Ready” she asked quietly.

     “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Elena managed a weak smile.

     Cecily handed her the larger of the bouquets, “It’ll be all right,” she replied firmly.

     Elena nodded jerkily as Waverley took her arm, to her surprise he patted her hand almost like a father, “Smile,” he said quietly, “It’s the happiest day of your life.”

     “And the most terrifying,” she murmured.

     “Only for forty minutes,” he replied.

     He opened the door and Elena caught her breath, Napoleon stood in front of the priest wearing a grey morning suit.  He turned as they entered and caught his breath.  Elena looked absolutely gorgeous and any doubts died in his throat.  His hand took hers as she reached him and she turned to look at him.  “You look beautiful,” he said softly.

     She managed a smile through her nervousness and then they were turning to face the priest. 

     Afterwards they had a number of photographs taken and then Waverley opened a bottle of champagne and toasted them.  “My congratulations to you both,” he said quietly, raising his glass. 

     “Congratulations, Napoleon, Elena,” Illya raised his glass and his blue eyes met those of his friend, “Take care of one another.”

     “We will, Illya,” Elena bent forward and kissed his cheek.

     “There is one last thing,” Waverley said quietly, “I have a car waiting outside, and a hotel booked for you both. But may I suggest one thing, although it is not terribly romantic.”

     “We change back into our ordinary clothes,” Elena said quietly, “and slip out quietly because if we left in these outfits we could make ourselves targets.”

     Waverley nodded, “Yes.”

     Napoleon nodded his dark eyes thoughtful, “Well love,” he said, his arm around Elena’s waist and looking down into her, “Shall we?”

     “Yes,” she replied, grinning up at him. He tightened his hold and kissed her, then released her and said, “We’ll save that for the hotel.”

     She smiled and said, “I’d better go get changed.”

     Fifteen minutes later she returned in her UNCLE uniform to see Napoleon in what she always thought of as his.   He and Illya were talking quietly and she saw Illya hand him an envelope.

     “Is that your bribe for having to be Napoleon’s Best Man?” she enquired.

     “A Wedding Present,” Illya responded, smiling.

     “Ready, love,” Napoleon asked quietly.

     “Ready.” Elena replied.

 

To their surprise Waverley had booked them, not the Wedding Suite, but a Deluxe Suite with a huge bed that left Elena speechless, she stepped into the room and gasped with delight when she saw their cases.  “Who did this?” she  asked.

     “Waverley,” Napoleon replied.

     “And your envelope?” she turned to him.

     “That,” he smiled and slit it open, to  his surprise two airline tickets fell out and Elena bent to pick them up.  She stared at them and then handed them to Napoleon, “I  don’t believe it!”

     Napoleon read them quickly, and then he shook his head, “I didn’t expect this.  Did you?”

     Elena shook her head, “I spoke of wanting to visit Scotland when I was taking care of Illya but I didn’t think-”

     “He obviously likes you very much,” Napoleon replied, “Got a valid passport?”

     “Absolutely,” Elena grinned and suddenly overwhelmed he swept her into his arms and kissed her passionately. 

     “Come to bed,” Napoleon said, his eyes dark and hungry.  Elena swallowed and then returned his kiss with the same fervour.  Sweeping her up into his arms he laid her on the bed and then stretched himself out beside her.  Laying a hand along the side of her face, he bent to kiss her again.

     “I have some news for you,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

     Napoleon ran his hand down her torso to rest it on her stomach, “Oh, my little love,” he murmured and then he kissed her, gently at first and then she felt his tongue touch her lips, she opened her mouth slightly to allow her own tongue to touch his.  Their kiss deepened and a low growl emerged from her throat. 

     She remembered his hands on her blouse while still maintaining the gentlest of kisses on her lips and eyelids, and she was half-aware of unbuttoning his shirt and her hands running over the bare skin of his arms and chest. 

     Then she felt his hands gently undoing her bra and gently, so gently removing the prosthesis she wore.  She opened her eyes suddenly afraid and found herself looking up into Napoleon’s brown ones.  There was no condemnation in his eyes, only a shining adoration in them as he slid it into the drawer on his side of the bed and bent to kiss her scar, his other hand gently stroking her right breast.

     She whimpered softly as the sensations threatened to overwhelm her.  She moved  her hand to grasp his member, feeling it thicken in her hand.  He arched slightly and a soft groan emerged from between his lips, his hand was moving lower and as two fingers slid into a crucial spot she arched towards him, her whole body shuddering with pleasure.

     Then she felt his leg between her knees and she opened her eyes to see him bending over him, his hair dark with sweat and then he was sliding into her and she couldn’t suppress  a moan of pleasure.  Reaching up a hand to cup his face she felt his body beginning to shudder.  Then he buried his face in her shoulder and shuddered to a standstill. 

     He raised his head to look into her face, “All right?” she asked gently.

     He laughed softly  and she reflected on how strange it felt to feel him inside her.  Gently he withdrew and then pulling back the covers, they snuggled under the covers.  Elena turned over and felt Napoleon slip an arm around her waist and pull her towards him. 

     “Lord, I’m tired,” he murmured.

     “I know,” Elena replied, laying her own hand on his, “go to sleep.”

     “I love you,” he sighed softly. “And I am glad I married you.”

     “Me too,” Elena yawned, “I love you too, Napoleon.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Man From U.N.C.L.E. or any of the characters in this story apart from Elena Vavasour. Please don't sue, I don't have any money and wouldn't be able to pay you anyway. I've written this story for fun and just taken some of my favourite characters out to play with for a while.


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